


and you can tell everybody

by owilde



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Coming Out, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multi, Pansexual Klaus Hargreeves, Sibling Bonding, Timeline What Timeline, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, i mean it's klaus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 02:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19190161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: They may all be all kinds of bastards, and they may all hate each other - but that doesn’t mean they don’t love each other, as well. Klaus figures, he might as well tell them all atsomepoint.





	and you can tell everybody

**Author's Note:**

> This is for @lgbtincomics Pride Month Challenge 2019 over on tumblr! Prompt for the day being "siblings".
> 
> Klaus is so much fun to write. Also, title taken from Elton John's "Your Song".

**One**  

Luther and Klaus don’t really… talk.

It’s not that either of them doesn’t want to – it’s more that their lives orbit so far apart from each other that any common conversation topics begin and end with “Father.” And their opinions on _that_ are as far apart as the moon is from Earth, which Klaus finds superbly funny once he’s told where Luther has spent his years.

But the bottom line is, they don’t talk. Never really have. And so Klaus never figured he’d have to, well. _Tell_ Luther stuff. He’s Number One, and he’s big and hulking and stoic, except for when he’s suddenly not and turns into a soft, quiet mountain with the best puppy eyes in existence.

Said puppy eyes are now staring at Klaus from the doorway. Luther has his knuckles against the door he’d been rapping a knock into, which had caused it to move slightly ajar, giving Luther a clear, if poorly lit view into Klaus’ room, where he’s awake, taking a hit which turns into a mildly surprised cough at the sight of Luther.

This, of course, awakens the man sleeping next to him. He blinks his eyes blearily open, and turns his head towards the door so that Luther can _really_ get the picture.

Luther looks at Klaus, confused. Klaus stares back, unsure of just what the fuck kind of a protocol he’s supposed to follow, here.

“Uh,” he starts, and snuffs the blunt out on the window ledge. “Luther. Do what do I owe the delight of your…” He eyes Luther up and down. “Awfully noticeable company?”

“It’s about Dad’s will,” Luther says, looking at Klaus though his eyes keep straying towards the stranger on the bed, who’s now lying face down, his head hidden under a pillow and his left arm thrown over Klaus’ stomach. “If you could come to the kitchen.”

Klaus raises a brow. “Well, I didn’t know you all bothered to include lil’ ol’ me in these kind of adult discussions,” he said. “How shockingly mature of you all. I’m disappointed in all of us.” He feigns a shocked expression, gasping. “Am _I_ turning into Father? Do you think maybe I’m accidentally channelling him?”

Luther almost smiles. “You’re not sober.”

“No,” Klaus agrees. He pauses for a second, glancing at… Trevor? Tim? Tennessee? “Hey, uh… Tee,” he says, and nudges the man a little. “I’ve got some family shit to attend. Think you can find your way out of hell by yourself?”

“Who am I,” Tee mutters, “fucking Orpheus?”

“You’re not fucking Orpheus, you were fucking me,” Klaus sweetly reminds him. He climbs out of bed, slightly dismayed but not terribly devastated to find that he’s not wearing anything but a thong and he can’t see any of his clothes. He looks at Luther, who has politely turned his gaze away. “Be with you in a sec.” Then he tells Tee, “There’s painkillers here somewhere, maybe next to the coke, and we don’t have any coffee because my dad was a deprived sociopath but there’s a Starbucks like ten miles away.”

Tee snores slightly in response.

Luther’s doing his best to avoid saying anything or even look at Klaus once he emerges from the bedroom, wearing a black mesh shirt he doesn’t remember owning and a pair of atrocious, high-waisted glitter pants he unfortunately does remember owning.

They make it down one hallway before Klaus caves. “I’m pansexual,” he says. “That means–”

“I know what it means,” Luther mutters.

Klaus lifts a genuinely surprised brow. “They teach sex ed on the moon?”

Luther does smile, then, and almost laughs.

Klaus smiles back, clapping him on the shoulder, though he does have to stand on his tip toes to reach it.

**Two**  

“ _Diego?”_ Klaus whispers in confusion, squinting his eyes against the blinking LED lights. What comes out is a loud, befuddled screech, loud enough to be heard over the bass boosted club music.

Diego turns around and catches his eyes, then appears to go through the five stages of grief in as many seconds before hurriedly turning around towards the bar counter to order… whatever it is that wannabe assassins drink.

“Ex?” Bea asks, running her fingers up and down Klaus’ back.

“What?” Klaus asks. His head lolls towards her. Everything’s slow and quiet and hazy. “Ex? No, no, no, _nooooo_.” He blinks at Bea, smiling brightly. “Brother.”

Bea takes a second look at Diego, frowning. “Really? You don’t look anything alike.”

Klaus scoffs. “You’ve never heard of adoption?”

Bea rolls her eyes. “Right.” She leans closer to him, smelling of cheap perfume and tobacco. Klaus presses his nose against her neck. “So, what’s he doing here?”

Klaus closes his eyes. The neon lights keep flashing against his lids. “I dunno,” he says. “Should we go make our acquaintances?”

“The fact that you can say ‘acquaintances’ this wasted,” Bea sighs. “Yeah, let’s go. I wanna know what kind of a fucking shit show you came from.”

Klaus laughs, one note into hysterical. “Oh, honey,” he says, “no, you don’t.”

But they leave their table regardless. Klaus leans against her for support, stumbling through the sea of dancing bodies blocking the way. Her arm’s around his waist, holding him up – she’s taller than him even without the killer heels. His mind wanders, wanders to a corner where Bea’s sleeping next to him and he’s sober for a second or two and realizes she deserves better, even from a loopy friends with benefits.

He escapes that corner and returns to this moment, where they’re suddenly next to Diego, who’s doing an exceptional job of ignoring them.

“Diego,” Klaus says. “Dieeego. Diego. _Diegoooo_.”

Diego turns to shoot daggers at him with his eyes. “Klaus.”

“Klaus,” he confirms, then points at Bea. “And Beatrice.”

“People call me Bea,” she says, reaching out to shake Diego’s hand. “Except for my mom, but that’s just the transphobia.”

“Bea,” Diego echoes. He doesn’t look happy, exactly, but he doesn’t look angry, either, so Klaus proceeds.

“Why’re you here?” He asks. “This is a gay club.”

Diego looks blankly at him. “No shit. I’m bisexual, you crack head.”

Klaus’ eyes widen. “I am _not_ a crack head,” he argues. “Except on Sundays.” He glances at Bea. “It’s not Sunday, is it?” She shakes her head, and he continues. “See? Not a crack head. Also, how come you never told me?”

“Told you?”

Klaus tries to smack him gently on the arm, but misses and hits the bar counter instead. “Ow, fuck. That you’re bi, _obviously_. We both swing all over the place, huh?”

“Terrible euphemism,” Diego says, vaguely disapprovingly, “but yes.” He pauses, sipping his drink. “Never came up. I haven’t seen you in fuckin’ months, man.”

“You could’ve called,” Klaus points out.

Diego raises a brow. “Do you even own a phone?”

Klaus shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“Mhm.” Diego sips his drink. “Maybe next time I have an epiphany about something, I’ll text.”

Klaus takes it as a victory.

**Three**  

“Allison,” Klaus whines into the phone, “Allison, Allison, Allison–”

“ _What_?”

“Oh, good, you’re listening. Hey, I need to tell you something.”

“Something?”

Klaus wraps the phone cord around his fingers, twisting and pulling. “Well, you see, it’s a funny story, really, but I’m in jail and I need someone to come and bail me.”

There’s a pregnant pause. Then Allison sighs, weary and somewhat annoyed. “Why me?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Klaus says. He gets comfortable leaning against the wall, hugging his middle with his free arm. “Call it… sibling intuition. I just knew you’d love to help me out.”

“And I’m the richest person you know?”

“Well, yes, that too, of course.”

Allison sighs again. “How much is the bail?”

“You know, I’m not sure.” Klaus puts his hand over the receiver, and stage whispers to the officer standing around waiting for him to finish, “ _How much was the bail?”_

The officer gives him a withering look. “Five hundred.”

Klaus mouths, _thank you_ , and repeats the number to Allison.

“Okay,” she says. Klaus can picture her pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

Klaus’ mouth widens into a blinding smile. “Thank you, thank you, thank you– you’re my _favorite_ sister–”

“The competition isn’t too high,” Allison cuts in, and hangs up.

Klaus puts the phone back and smiles at the officer. “My sister’s paying my bail.”

The officer doesn’t seem too impressed. “Lucky for you,” she says. “And your… friend?”

Klaus waves his hand dismissively and starts walking back towards the holding cells. “Eh, he’ll live. You know, I actually think he might be trying for a record…”

Allison arrives half an hour later. She pays the bail money, shoots Klaus a glare and begins to stalk off towards the parking lot.

Klaus takes his stuff from the desk – his burner phone, seven cigarettes, a box of matches, and a wallet with $5 in it – and hurries after her. “Hey, wait up, I need a lift!”

She doesn’t stop until she’s sitting behind the wheel of her car. Klaus sidles into the passenger seat, stuffing his belongings to his various pockets as he does. When he glances at Allison, she’s leaning forward with her forehead pressed against the steering wheel and her hands gripping it at ten and two.

Klaus thinks it’d be best to just be quiet, but he’s never really been good at doing what’s best for him, so instead he asks, “You smoke?”

“No,” Allison mutters. After a pause, she holds out her hand. “Give me one, anyway.”

Klaus fishes two cigarettes from his front pocket. He lights hers first, and it’s only then that Allison straightens up again, leaning against the car seat. She rolls the windows down as they smoke in silence.

It’s dark out. Klaus can hear cicadas chirping from the distance. “Why were you awake?”

Allison closes her eyes. “Haven’t been sleeping all that good lately.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Klaus doesn’t ask why. Instead, he takes a long drag of his cigarette, lifts his feet up, and says, “Did they tell you what my charges were?”

“Mhm,” Allison hums. “Figured it’d be drugs, but clearly, you had to one up yourself by adding public sex into it.”

Klaus shrugs, smiling faintly. “You know me. If there’s a will…”

“Yeah, you’ve always found a way, I’ll give you that.” Allison sighs. “Who was she, then?”

Klaus snorts. “Oh, well, his name’s Marc. Sometimes, Marc O’Pole, when he’s doing drag.”

“… Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Allison throws her cigarette out and starts the car. “So, you’re…”

“Pansexual.”

“Mmh.”

They reverse and drive out the parking lot. Klaus stares out through the open window at the trees passing by. He flicks his cigarette away, and lets the gentle summer breeze caress his hand. “Can I stay at your place?” He asks suddenly, not looking at her. “I don’t really have anything else.”

“Yeah,” Allison says without a pause. She puts the radio on. “I’ll pull the couch out for you.”

They drive off into the night, with the country station playing softly in the background.

**Five**

Five grits his teeth loud enough for Klaus to hear it over the rumbling engine of the car. “How is this relevant?”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t know!” Klaus says, leaning forward from between the front and passenger seat. “And I thought it might be relevant, since, you know – time travel experience?”

“Yes,” Five agrees through his tightly clenched jaw, “but I fail to see the relevance of you spinning this tale of… what’s his name, Drew–”

“ _Dave.”_

“–Dave, when there are more important things–”

“What do you mean ‘ _spinning tales_ ’–”

“ _Guys_ ,” Diego interrupts, “Jesus _Christ_ , calm down.”

Klaus huffs indignantly. “Well, it’s not like nobody else is going to understand how that fucks you up.”

“Losing your partner?” Diego asks, turning his head to shoot Klaus a nasty side-eye.

“Travelling through time?” Five asks at the same time, raising a sceptical brow.

Klaus sags against the back seat of the car, crossing his arms. “Great. Between the three of us, we’ve got a whole fucking collection of trauma. Maybe we can get a medal.”

Diego spins the wheel of the van suddenly as they veer to the right, taking a sharp turn through a narrow alleyway. The van rattles loudly, shaking from side to side, and rocks are ricocheting from the tires in rapid fire.

Klaus’ chest tightens. He blinks, and sees Dave, bleeding out as he holds him until the end. He blinks again, and the van is back, but Klaus’ hands are trembling and his breathing is shallow. His thoughts are jettisoning around, too fast for him to hold on to, but the flashes are enough.

_Dead. Dead. Dead. I love you. You’re different. Klaus. Klaus? Hold me. May I have this dance? No day like today. I love you, Klaus. I love. Dead. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang–_

Klaus punches the roof with his hand and clenches his eyes shut, flattening his palm against the surface. _Goodbye._ “Fuck.”

“What?” Five asks. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Klaus says through gritted teeth. “It’s nothing.”

“What?” Diego echoes. Their voices sound distant. “Why’s he look so pale? Withdrawals?”

“No,” Five says.

“Well?”

“Flashbacks.”

“Oh.”

Klaus lets his hand drop and presses his head into his palms. One breath in, one out. His nails dig into his skin, creating half-crescents.

“War?”

“I’d imagine.” There’s rustling, as Five presumably shifts in his seat. “Four.” Pause. “Klaus?”

“What,” Klaus says flatly.

“I’m sorry. About him.”

Klaus peeks at him through his fingers. Five is looking away, but his voice sounds softer than usual. He clears his throat and adds, “I lost someone, too. I lost… well. I lost all of you. And… someone special.”

Klaus chuckles weakly. “You saying this family isn’t special enough?”

Five smiles a little. They continue driving in silence.

**Six**

“You never told me.”

Klaus startles awake. His eyes snap to Ben, who’s apparently standing vigil by his bedside, arms crossed over his chest and a disapproving tilt to this brow.

“Jesus,” Klaus exhales, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’re sending me to an early grave, too.”

Ben’s eye roll is simultaneously vicious and fond. “Yeah, _I’m_ doing that.” He directs his gaze to the people resting on either side of Klaus on the bed. “How’d you even meet them?”

Klaus flashes him a charming grin. “Craigslist.”

Ben’s brow ascends higher towards his hairline.

“Okay,” Klaus amends, rolling his eyes, “Okay, I know them–” He points towards the person on his right, “–from around town, and they know him...” He nods at the man on his left, “from like, I don’t know. Friend of a friend or something? And he’s apparently bicurious, or something, and I was like, well, I’m a clusterfuck, you know, gender wise, and if he wants to fuck _this_ , then probably he’s _some_ kind of a queer–”

“Okay,” Ben says, lifting his hands up in surrender. “I got it.” He pauses, taking in the room. “How long have you known?”

“The gender thing?” Klaus asks. “Or the pan thing?”

“Both.”

“Well.” Klaus sits up and reaches over the man’s back to lift a pack of cigarettes and a neon pink lighter off the floor. He lights one up. “The whole pansexual thing was, oh… early. I don’t really recall, but I can’t have been more than, like, thirteen. Of course, the exact labels come later, but…” He takes a long drag and puffs the smoke out, tilting his head backwards. “The genderfluidity? It’s sort of come and gone as it pleases.”

“Right.” Ben sits down. “Wasn’t worth mentioning before, or?”

“Didn’t come up,” Klaus says. “Somehow, I was a little more preoccupied with the whole seeing-my-dead-brother thing, you know.”

Ben’s lips twist into an amused smile. “I can see how that might take a priority.”

It hasn’t been long that Ben’s been hanging around. Klaus had been seeking what everyone who’s ever come up to him has wanted – answers. It took an unholy amount of tries, and some sobering up – Klaus gave up at a point for a week, and once that week was done, he’d woken up to Ben sitting by the edge of his mattress, staring at him with a distressed expression.

It took a while to start feeling normal – as normal as anything in Klaus’ fucking life did. Ben was the only one who showed up, no matter how high Klaus was shooting. He was there. He was a bit of a brat, but he was also, probably, Klaus’ best friend – and that spoke volumes of _him_ , really, didn’t it?

“I’m sorry,” Klaus says eventually. “I should’ve mentioned it.”

“It’s alright. I–”

The person to Klaus’ right stirs, silencing Ben. “Who the fuck are you talkin’ to?” They mumble, peeking at Klaus through the strands of their dirty blonde hair.

“Uh,” Klaus says, looking at them. “Myself?”

They shrug. “Makes sense. Wake me up in an hour.”

And then they’re asleep again. When Klaus looks back to where Ben was, he’s gone.

**Seven**  

Klaus isn’t sure how or why, exactly, he has a phone, or how said phone has any saved contacts. But he does, and it does, and he’s very deep into his bottle of absolut, and he’s sad and wasted and miserable, and so, of course – he drunk dials.

He’s lying on the floor, his skirt riding high against his thigh. He’s kicked his shoes into one corner or another, because heels are a nuisance. His shirt’s halfway unbuttoned, not by him, and his make-up’s smeared, and everything is just shit, in his life, and fuck it if he’s not going to tell somebody about it.

The list of contacts are a white, abstract blur. Klaus scrolls up and down, not seeing or registering any of it. Eventually, he taps at a random name, and hits dial before his eyes can focus, if they’re even capable of such feats, right now.

He closes his eyes and relaxes against the floorboards as the dial tone beeps. The rise and fall of his chest is comforting. He concentrates on the rhythm, and the dial tone. One, two. One, two. One, two, so on and so forth.

He almost misses it when the line clicks.

“Hello?” A voice says, hoarse and bleary, and a little bit apprehensive. “Who is this?”

“Did I wake you up?” Klaus asks, slurred. “I’m not sure what the time is.”

“It’s three in the morning,” the voice says, then asks, “Klaus?”

“Oh, thank god you know me,” Klaus sighs. He rolls over to his stomach and blindly taps at the screen until he hits the speaker button. “You’re on speaker phone, but don’t worry, there’s no one else here. Probably. I mean, it’s not my apartment so who knows, but–”

“Klaus, do you even know who you’re calling?”

Klaus squints at the screen. “It’s very hard to tell, I have to listen to so many people all night long,” he says. “But it’s very comforting that you didn’t curse me out or try for phone sex, because I really can’t handle either, right now.”

The line is quiet for a few seconds. “It’s Vanya.”

“ _Vanya_ ,” Klaus exclaims. “Oh, this is wonderful – Vanya, meine Liebe, I read your book – or, someone read snippets to me, but either way, I thought it was very good of you to get profit off of dear old Daddy.” He sniffles. “Speaking of profit, can I get a cut out of my chapters?”

“Klaus, you’re drunk,” Vanya says, sounding slightly sad.

“When am I not?” Klaus counters.

Vanya doesn’t answer him. Instead, she asks, “Where are you?”

“That,” Klaus says, “is a _very_ good question. There was some guy who was supposed to cut me a good deal on some new hip drug or another, but then there was some… some complete bullshit _thing_ , and now I think I’m in his pent house or something, and maybe he wants to sleep with me but I don’t know ‘cause he’s not here, and I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m...” He lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, “ _wasteeed_.”

“Trust me,” Vanya says dryly, “I can tell.” As she pauses, Klaus attention drifts to the lights on the ceiling that keep changing colors. They flash pink, yellow, blue, and Klaus giggles slightly. He lifts his hand up towards them, staring at his cracked nail polish. He’s so very, very tired.

“… sleep with you?” Vanya’s voice comes through.

“Hmm?” Klaus asks.

“Why does he want to sleep with you?”

“Oh.” Klaus sighs wearily. “Well, I’m very attractive, and not to toot my own horn, but it _is_ a very good horn, so…”

“And you’re… okay with that?”

Klaus frowns. “With which part?”

“The sleeping with this guy part.”

Klaus rolls over again, and something crunches underneath him. Maybe chips. Hopefully not glass. “Well, I don’t know him very well, but that’s never stopped me before.”

“Yeah, but the _guy_ part.”

“Ohh. You didn’t know? Yes, I – I swing in all kinds of directions, Liebe, don’t worry about it. That’s the least of my problems now.” He sits up sharply, and regrets it as he nearly vomits all over the floor from the sudden dizziness. “That’s why I called you! Or not _you_ , but it happened to be you, and so I suppose–”

“Okay,” Vanya stops his rambling before it gets going. “I’m here. You can tell me, alright? I’ll put the coffee on.”

Klaus pauses, eyes fixed on the building across the street. A small smile forms on his lips. “Okay,” he agrees. “Thank you.”

“Well,” Vanya mumbles. “What are siblings for?”

“Yes,” Klaus agrees. “What, indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ wilderogers!


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